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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24848086">Through the Windows</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/megzseattle/pseuds/megzseattle'>megzseattle</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeckarin/pseuds/Zeckarin'>Zeckarin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Humor, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:47:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,932</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24848086</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/megzseattle/pseuds/megzseattle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeckarin/pseuds/Zeckarin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Two different day to day vignettes of Aziraphale and Crowley's daily life, in two different story universes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>71</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Day Without Coffee</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>My writing buddy Zeckarin suggested we each write a story set in each other’s worlds and peopled with each other's versions of the Good Omens characters. This is my story for her world. In her story universe, Crowley and Aziraphale are essentially queerplatonic life partners, asexual best friends, who share the bookshop as a living space and occasionally do jobs on contract for the archangel Raphael. Her Aziraphale is sometimes a little bit scarier than mine, and her Crowley is a little more likely to carry a large ficus plant to the local pub when it's not feeling well because he can't leave it at home alone. You should really go read some of her stuff. :) </p><p>Her chapter with my guys will be along in the next few days I think...</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley always, always needed coffee before even opening his eyes. He usually received one pressed into his hand as soon as he awoke, stretching, from one of his naps. No coffee meant a very grumpy demon. Invariably.</p><p>Aziraphale knew this, of course. He’d known it even before they became roommates – over their years as adversaries, allies, and then friends, he’d quickly learned that it was in his best interests to recognize a certain petulant tone in Crowley’s voice on the phone or even, sometimes, in writing, and to show up at the arranged rendezvous with an espresso in hand. Of course he always had to pretend that he’d bought it for himself and simply didn’t like the taste – too bitter, you see, what a shame, who would’ve known – and ask the demon if he would do him a favor and take it off of his hands because he just hated to see it wasted.</p><p>Wouldn’t do to have the demon think he was bringing him gifts just to soften him up and make him easier to deal with. Aziraphale was rather proud of this deft bit of demon handling.</p><p>(Crowley knew, of course. He knew every time. But he played along because he liked the espresso. The angel was a terrible actor.)</p><p> </p><p>And then, shortly after the failed apocalypse, Crowley had simply claimed the couch in the bookshop as his permanent home and moved in. If Aziraphale <em>thought </em>he’d understood the caffeine situation before, he grew to realize he’d not understood it at all until the demon was actually living with him. The first morning that Crowley woke up on the couch in the shop, he’d watched his morning routine in great surprise. The demon literally rolled off the couch onto the floor, moaning bloodlessly, until the angel fetched him a cup of coffee or a cappucino (complete with a cinnamon stick, just to make it special), which he amusingly drank <em>under</em> the coffee table. Aziraphale observed with a smirk on his lips as an arm snaked out from beneath the table and held up the empty cup for a refill.</p><p>“Honestly, my dear boy, how did you manage on your own all of these years?” The angel said good-naturedly, plucking the cup from his hand and heading to the kitchen.</p><p>Crowley was certainly capable of getting his own coffee in the morning; he’d done so for at least a few centuries now. But, in his defense, he preferred not to do so for two reasons: one, the angel was a being of service, and he needed something to <em>do</em>. Crowley was just being <em>selfless</em> by allowing the angel to fetch him a cup every morning. It was really the kind thing to do for his friend.</p><p>Not that he was kind. Not at all. He was a demon, after all.</p><p>Second, left to his own devices, Crowley would never make it all the way to the kitchen to brew something and then – unthinkable, really – wait for the brewing to be completed before helping himself. He would snap his fingers and miracle up a cup for himself. And everyone knew that brewed coffee just tasted better than miracled coffee. So really, it was a win-win all around. Any idiot could see that.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p>The first time it went pear-shaped, Aziraphale seemed to know it in advance. They’d spent the day battling a demonic incursion in Bath, and both were completely exhausted upon their return. They took turns washing and healing each other’s wounds, comparing notes on the day and chiding each other in various exasperated tones about unnecessary risks they’d taken, and then Crowley had collapsed and passed out on the couch without so much as a wish good night.</p><p>When he awoke the next morning, there was no coffee beside him. Instead there was a piece of paper, covered in that careful copperplate handwriting that the angel was famous for.</p><p><em>Crowley, my dear, </em>it read, <em>I’m afraid I realized close to dawn that I could not possibly go without sleep a moment longer. I fear I will not be awake when you rise to bring you your coffee. </em></p><p><em>Wanker, </em>Crowley thought grumpily to himself, before continuing.</p><p>
  <em>I have, however, consulted the manual for the coffee maker and attempted to program it to have one ready for you at your regular rising time of 11 a.m. With any luck, you will find a pot ready and waiting for you. I shall see you later, my dear.</em>
</p><p>Crowley raised an eyebrow and took a tentative sniff of the air, using his snake senses to pick up subtle molecules. It certainly smelled like coffee, so that was hopeful. He sighed at the prospect of having to walk <em>all the way</em> to the kitchen to get his own cup, and then, realizing there was no appreciate angel to observe and feel guilty about it, he sauntered to the kitchen to investigate.</p><p>He stopped in the doorway in shock.</p><p>There was, in fact, coffee.</p><p>There was coffee on the counter, on the floor, dripping down the lower cupboards, soaking into the small and extraordinarily expensive Turkish rug that Aziraphale insisted on having in front of the sink, clinging to the legs of the table and chairs. It was a veritable sea of coffee. None of which could be placed in a cup.</p><p>Angels, Crowley thought. Give an angel a modern appliance and a manual and they will get it wrong every bloody time.</p><p>He snapped his fingers, eliminating the mess completely, and then ran a hand through his hair to tug it into some semblance of order before he headed out to the coffee shop down the street. No point, now that he was upright, in miracling an inferior cup of coffee when he could just go buy one three minutes away.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p>The angel was sitting at his desk working when he heard the front bell tinkle, followed by loud footsteps, followed by someone throwing themselves bodily at the couch.</p><p>“They’re <em>closed</em>, angel,” the demon shouted. “Closed! Did you know there’s a barista strike in London today? How on earth can all of the baristas in town go on bloody strike?”</p><p>“A barista strike?” the angel echoed. “What on earth?”</p><p>“They’ve formed a <em>union</em>,” the demon snarled.</p><p>Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Well you’ve no one to blame for that except yourself,” he said archly. “We both know unions were one of yours.”</p><p>“They should’ve been Heaven’s,” Crowley said touchily. “Protecting the workers from their evil overlords and all that. Right up your alley.”</p><p>Aziraphale squirmed uncomfortably. Heaven didn’t really care about the plight of workers; they both knew that. And so, Crowley had taken it on, sometime in the late 18<sup>th</sup> century. It had been a hard sell to the Dark Council, why they should invest their time in something that on the surface would <em>help</em> people, but Crowley had managed it by pointing out how much it would anger and inconvenience the rich and powerful, leading to all kinds of opportunities for evil.</p><p>Really, he’d done it because something needed to be done for the poor, poverty-stricken kids, working in factories, bleeding their lives away in darkness and squalor. But neither of them openly acknowledged this, because he was a demon with standards to maintain.</p><p>Setting that whole train of thought aside, the angel leaned forward, curious.</p><p>“Why did you even go out?” Aziraphale asked. “Did you drink the whole pot of coffee that I left for you this morning?”</p><p>“Oh,” the demon mumbled. “Oh yeah, that was good. Just needed more.”</p><p>Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying,” he said, surprised.</p><p>“M’not!” Crowley said, trying not to fidget as the angel’s gaze became a little more steely. “Okay, okay, I am.”</p><p>The angel humphed. “So, what really happened?”</p><p>“You did something wrong with the programming, angel,” Crowley said, not unkindly. “There was coffee all over the room, but none in the pot. Floor, cupboards, rug. I cleaned it up.”</p><p>Aziraphale colored faintly. “Well in my defense the manual was in Italian. I’m a little rusty.”</p><p>Crowley grunted noncommittally and glowered at the rug.</p><p>“Oh goodness,” Aziraphale said. “So, you’ve still not had any coffee? And it’s what, noon? Let me make you a fresh pot.”</p><p>“That’d be nice,” the demon muttered crankily.</p><p>Aziraphale tutted, not truly surprised at the demon’s worsening mood, and headed off to take care of things.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p>Crowley settled into a comfortably impractical slouch and luxuriated in frowning at various objects around the room. Stupid grandfather clock. Stupid globe that didn’t even have the country names right anymore. Stupid lectern with the stupid book on it. Stupid winged cupid. It took him a while to notice that he was hearing a surprising amount of commotion from the kitchen. Cupboards were being opened and banged closed again and he was fairly certain he heard some rather unangelic grumbling and tasted the beginnings of fear in the air.</p><p>With a huge sigh, he heaved himself up off the couch and wandered in to see what on earth the angel was up to.</p><p>The angel was on his hands and knees, digging through the bottom shelf of a cupboard, and failed to even notice his companion.</p><p>Crowley cleared his throat meaningfully, causing Aziraphale to bump his head on the shelf above him as he attempted to straighten up.</p><p>“Oh! I didn’t see you there,” the angel said, barely disguised dismay in his eyes. He was holding a jar of something in his hand.</p><p>“What in the blazes is the matter with you <em>now</em>?” Crowley said.</p><p>“We seem to be out of coffee,” the angel muttered. “I think I used the last of it this morning in the pot.”</p><p>“Wot?” Crowley said. “That’s impossible. We always keep a good supply of beans on hand, don’t we?”</p><p>The angel gestured with the hand holding the jar. “All I can find is this one jar of Nescafe. Which I can’t explain – it’s not like we would ever drink this slop.”</p><p>Crowley shuddered and snapped the jar away into the deepest pits of hell. “Well there’s one problem solved.”</p><p>Aziraphale thought. “Didn’t you do the marketing last week?”</p><p>Crowley bristled. Ohhhh no, he was not letting the angel put the fault on this one on him! “I might’ve done. Can’t remember.”</p><p>“Yes, I’m fairly certain you did. I remember making you a list.”</p><p>“Did you put coffee ON the list, angel?” Crowley could hear how petulant his own voice was becoming.</p><p>“I’m sure I must have. I always do!”</p><p>“Well,” Crowley said, “it looks like you missed it this time.”</p><p>Aziraphale looked irritated. “I certainly didn’t. No matter, though; I’ll just pop out and get some then, won’t take a minute.”</p><p>“Can’t,” Crowley said. “It’s some kind of bank holiday.”</p><p>“Grocers don’t close for bank holidays,” Aziraphale said.</p><p>“They do”, Crowley said, “you just never do the marketing so you aren’t aware of that fact.”</p><p>“So, you’re telling me that the baristas of London are on strike, <em>and</em> the grocers are closed <em>and </em>we’ve run out of beans all in the same week?” Aziraphale asked, sounding suspicious.</p><p>“It appears that way, yes,” Crowley snipped.</p><p>“Are you sure you haven’t pissed someone off? Gotten a curse laid on you?”</p><p>Crowley frowned. It did seem like a rather pointed set of coincidences. “I don’t <em>think </em>so,” he said slowly. “I mean, I did have a couple of harsh words with a couple customers last week. And when Raphael was here last week to tell us about that job in Bath, we had a bit of a tiff. And there was a guy in Starbucks last Friday that had the nerve to object when I cut in front of him in line –”</p><p>“Raphael?” Aziraphale said. “What happened with Raphael?”</p><p>“She was drinking tea, angel. With a TEABAG. In a cold cup.”</p><p>“And?”</p><p>“And…” Crowley cast his mind back. “I might’ve said something how that wasn’t the right way to do things. She didn’t seem that offended by it. She just ignored me for the rest of the time and mostly talked to you.”</p><p>“You insulted an archangel?”</p><p>“Well, just a little.”</p><p>“What exactly did you say?”</p><p>“That the idea of tea in bags was a travesty and that if she’s going to do that she might as well make instant coffee from powder and” --the demon stopped, dawning understanding based over his face—“Oh,” he said. “Ohhhhhhhhhh shit.”</p><p>Aziraphale sighed. “Well then I think we know where this came from,” he said, plopping down in the opposite chair.</p><p>Crowley blinked at him grumpily. “I think you’re jumping to conclusions.”</p><p>Aziraphale reached out and plucked Crowley’s cell out of his jacket pocket and plopped it on the table. “I’m not,” he said, as he walked out of the room. “And I suggest you make a phone call and clear this all up before things get even worse.”</p><p>Crowley sighed and gestured rudely at the angel’s retreating back, just for the sake of obnoxiousness. He stared at the empty coffee maker in dejection, before groaning and picking up the phone and punching in a few numbers.</p><p>The angel, he suspected, was right. Only one way out of this mess.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Here is my take on megzeattle's universe!<br/>I love her Serpent and Seagull series an awful lot. If you don't know it already, please go there to discover it, you won't regret it!<br/>I have to say it was very funny and terribly interesting to write her boys. It was the first time I was writing a couple in love, and I loved each second of it!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks a LOT to cunzy4 for this brilliant idea :D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Every human in the bakery was trying very hard to pretend they weren’t listening to the tall man in black and his shorter, fair companion at the far end of the waiting line. It was a difficult endeavor. Both men were yelling at each other, ignoring the gasps and anxious stares they were eliciting.</p><p>“Do you have to be so loud, Crowley? We are in public, and you are <em>yelling</em>!” yelled Mr. Fell, the bookshop’s owner that had been coming here to buy sweets every other day for years.</p><p>“You <em>cheated</em>, angel! I’m your bloody HUSBAND! Of <em>course</em> I’m yelling! How could you do this to me?”</p><p>The baker dropped a baguette, blushing to the tip of her ears. She would never have expected something like this from that nice Mr. Fell...</p><p>“But Crowley, I was in <em>prison</em>!”</p><p>Another baguette dropped to the floor. Someone choked on their coffee.</p><p>The taller man in sunglasses snarled. “Oh, don’t you use that crappy excuse. You weren’t there for FIVE minutes before deciding you were bored! Was it worth it? Did this shallow, meaningless transgression felt like a win to you? Cause I know what it will cost you: <em>one husband!</em>”</p><p>“Really, Crowley, no need to be that dramatic. Lots of people are doing it every day, it doesn’t mean anything at all. It was just a little fun, is all. Certainly no cause for divorce,” mused the fair man, rolling his eyes before looking at the cakes on display distractedly.</p><p>His husband spluttered. “No cause for… you <em>cheated</em> and <em>lied</em> to my face about it! <em>Lying</em>, angel!”</p><p>The bookseller pouted at the cakes. “Well, in this instance, I could hardly be expected to be truthful, could I?”</p><p>“Oh yeah?” hissed Crowley, crossing his arms and looming over his husband. “’Cause I recall you promising <em>never</em> to lie to me again!”</p><p><em>This</em> got him all of his partner’s attention. Mr. Fell froze on the spot, and slowly turned to his husband with such a dirty look everyone in the shop took a step back.</p><p>“That was low, Crowley.”</p><p>Crowley’s mouth twitched in a grimace and he blushed a little. “Okay, that was uncalled for,” he reckoned in a murmur. It didn’t exactly <em>sound</em> like an apology, but it really seemed like one.</p><p>Mister Fell looked at him for two more seconds, then turned back to the cakes. “I am not the only one to have been untruthful in this relationship,” he declared with a pout.</p><p>Everyone in the room held their breath. The old lady at the front of the line threw some coins on the counter and ran to the door like her life depended on it.</p><p>“What’s THAT supposed to mean?” asked Crowley, one eyebrow shooting to his hairline, the other miraculously managing a frown.</p><p>“Last week? With Anathema? If you think I didn’t see all the winks and little smiles you were exchanging behind my back, then you are dreadfully wrong. You were not very discreet, you know. And what exactly did you answer when I asked you if you’d been deceiving me?”</p><p>Crowley blanched, opened and closed his mouth a few times, then pushed his glasses firmly up his nose, straightening into a stiff posture. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbled.</p><p>“Oh, <em>really</em>,” scoffed Mr. Fell, pointing to the cakes he’d chosen. “Then let me explain it to you, dearest: I am talking about you cheating <em>first</em>, and giving me a free pass, that’s what I am talking about. And if you’d rather make a fool of your husband with Anathema than be <em>honest</em>, who am I to deprive you of it? I understand it must be a <em>chore</em> to put up with me.”</p><p>“Oi! That’s not the same! I like her, we were having a good time together! It was <em>fun</em>! What’s <em>your</em> excuse? I know you only did it to spite me!”</p><p>Mr. Fell fidgeted with his cuff-links, and a guilty look briefly crossed his face. “Well at least I had the decency not to involve anyone else in my transgression,” he murmured halfheartedly. “I did it all by myself.”</p><p>Everyone blinked in confusion, trying to imagine it. They all blushed and avoided each other’s eyes.</p><p>The baker nervously wrapped up the cakes and handed them over, praying to God for the two men to pursue their argument outside. The Almighty, apparently in a compassionate mood, granted her wish.</p><p>“You’re a selfish bastard and you know it,” growled Crowley, angrily paying for the goods before holding the door for his husband.</p><p>The bookshop was calm, and it suited Frederick very well. There had been shouting sooner in the day, and he didn’t like when his nap was so rudely interrupted. He hoped his two owners would be in a better mood once they came back.</p><p>His wishes weren’t to be granted. The bell jingled aggressively as the pointy one barged in, cursing under his breath, shortly followed by a very sour-faced angel.</p><p>Oh. Nap over, apparently. Frederick slithered out from under the pile of fake banknotes that had been laying on the floor since Crowley had flipped the game board over,initiating The Fight.</p><p>The serpent sighed inwardly as he regained his basket near Aziraphale’s desk and braced himself for more stupid shouting. But both man-shaped creature were silent, the fluffy one barely taking the time to check on Frederick, only stroking his scales <em>once </em>(a deadly giveaway) with a finger before sitting at his desk and putting cakes on a plate with his lips pressed in a thin line, while Crowley pretended to peruse the books in the Tragedy section, his back turned to his husband.</p><p>Oh, <em>great</em>. At least they were fighting in silence, this time, thought the snake, deciding to get back to his rest. But a glance at Aziraphale changed his mind. He didn’t like his fluffy owner to be sad. First of all, unhappy Aziraphale was not pleasant to watch. It made Frederick want to bite something. Also, it meant less cuddles.</p><p>The angel’s lap, pocket and neck were the best sleeping places, in Frederick’s opinion, and he already had to give up on those most evenings since Crowley had taught his husband to sleep.</p><p>OI! YOU STUPID MORONIC SNAKEBIRD!</p><p>Crowley snatched his glasses off to better glare at the snake.</p><p>TELL HIM YOU’RE SORRY, YOU GIGANTIC ASS! yelled Frederick.</p><p>“I am not the one who should apologize!” hissed back the pointy one.</p><p>“Well, I am very glad to hear it,” answered Aziraphale icily. “I am ever so happy to know <em>all</em> the blame on me!”</p><p>“I wasn’t talking to you!” answered Crowley defensively.</p><p>“Perfect, then, because I am not talking to you either,” answered the angel in that way too polite tone his two snakes had learned to fear.</p><p>Had Frederick been able to roll his eyes, he would have.</p><p>YOU TWO ARE THE STUPIDEST THINGS THAT EVER WALKED THE EARTH! he yelled.</p><p>“That’s half true, at least,” murmured Crowley, choosing a book at random and sauntering to the couch.</p><p>Sitting at his desk and eating a cake, Aziraphale looked at Frederick suspiciously. “What did he say?”</p><p>“That we’re the stupidest things that ever walked the earth,” translated Crowley, sprawling on his seat.</p><p>“Then I certainly agree with you for once. It <em>is</em> half true,” reckoned his husband, taking a dainty bit of cake from his fork.</p><p>They exchanged a glance, and the tension in the room seemed to hesitate on its next course of action. Up or down?</p><p>Aziraphale smiled. “I <em>did</em> cheat, you know. But you had just stolen my last hotel! Anyway,” he added hurriedly before Crowley could answer to that, “I am really sorry. I shouldn’t have done it, nor lie about it afterwards-”</p><p>His husband sat up in a rush and held his hands up in a stopping motion to silence him. “I shouldn’t have brought up the lying thing, okay? Not about something so minor. I’m very happy you’re feeling comfortable enough to do it, to be honest.And everyone cheats at Monopoly, angel. I was just angry to realize you were good at it. How come you can be so crappy at sleight-of-hand and so good at stealing fake money? I know you didn’t use a miracle.”</p><p>The angel blushed prettily, avoiding his gaze. “Oh, well… I… I am not sure being gifted at cheating would be considered very angelic behavior.”</p><p>Crowley grinned. “I wouldn’t have married a well-behaved angel, Aziraphale,” he declared, patting the cushion next to him. With a fond smile, his husband joined him, cake and fork in hand.</p><p>The demon pouted. “Come ooon, won’t you put this down? The best part of an argument is the making out-I mean, up!” he wriggled his eyebrows suggestively, making Aziraphale chuckle.</p><p>“Well, I am certainly interested in<em> making up</em>, my love, even more so now that you put it that way… but I am afraid we only addressed half of the matter so far...”</p><p>Crowley groaned. He’d knew he had it coming. “All right… maybe Anathema helped me <em>a little</em> at Scrabble last week...”</p><p>“Maybe?” asked Aziraphale, taking a bite of cake.</p><p>“Someone’s sake, angel… okay, <em>certainly</em>! Are you happy now?”</p><p>“I knew it!” erupted the angel with a wide grin, springing to his feet and pointing at his husband as he miracled his cake in the kitchen. “I <em>knew</em> you’d cheated!”</p><p>Crowley gaped. “Wait… you weren’t <em>sure</em>?”</p><p>“Well, you beating me that easily seemed highly improbable,” answered his husband with a satisfied smile.</p><p>The demon squinted his eyes. “How do you make so much ego fit in that corporation, Aziraphale?”</p><p>He was met with a flutter of eyelashes. “Weren’t we supposed to make up? If I remember correctly, snuggles were required at some point...”</p><p>“After you insulted my talent at Scrabble?”</p><p>“Well, you <em>did</em> just call my sleight-of-hand <em>crappy</em>...”</p><p>Frederick stopped paying attention. The fluffy one was starting to use that sickening honeyed voice he only ever used with Crowley, and the pointy snakebird was already smiling like a sap. Disgusting.</p><p>Better get back to sleep, thought the serpent, curling back in his basket. At least his two stupid owners were happy again and silence was back, but he had the feeling he wouldn’t been coddled or pampered any time soon.</p><p>The sound of a magical disappearance, followed by two <em>thumps</em> that sounded suspiciously like bodies appearing in the bedroom above confirmed his thoughts.</p>
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